


The Council Nightmare before Christmas

by BestApplePie



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 01:17:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9411044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BestApplePie/pseuds/BestApplePie
Summary: The council meets in season two. It doesn't go as Tim planned.(minor changes in timeline)





	

He’s pretty confident that today will be a good day as he steps into the small classroom. Said’s already sitting there, waiting. He’s glad that the man finally recognized how serious he is with those council-meetings. This is where things will change for the better, he is sure.

“Good morning!”

“McManus” Said nods before looking at the papers in front of him again. 

It’s good they can finally start to see each other eye-to-eye. Ever since he took that bullet to the chest, he has been doing a lot of thinking. It is time they settle their differences and work together - everyone should. That’s what these council meetings are for. So everyone can work together, learn something together. Learn to live together.

Sadly, he hasn’t had that much success until now. Most of the prisoners just can’t let go of their hatred yet. Maybe he should try trust-exercises…

Schillinger marches in and seats himself on the chair with the greatest distance to Said. He complains about the other niggers being late again, ignoring Said’s intense stare. He wishes those two could get along. If only Schillinger could see beyond the color, maybe he would find that he and Said aren’t that different after all. Both leaders with… alright, Tim sighs, this doesn’t work. Schillinger and Said couldn’t be any more different. But it would be so much more relaxing and better for productivity if those two would lay their differences aside and work together to make life better for everyone.

Adebisi struts in, a broad grin on his face and his eyes glazed over. Adebisi is… a special case, Tim muses. But he hasn’t lost all hope with him, yet. He refuses to believe a prisoner is guilty until proven otherwise, and so should the others. Especially Peter Schibetta. After all, everyone here is guilty with one crime or another themselves.

O’Reily enters next, looking quite sickly from the treatments. Tim would like to have a chat with him afterwards. To see how he is doing. He knows about that thing with Gloria, and yes, it’s normal to get “attached” in such a difficult situation, but what he really needs is someone to talk some sense into him. Let him know they’re here for him too. 

Next is Hoyt, the new representative of the bikers. Tim isn’t sure about that one - he looks harmless enough, despite the tattoos. Reminds him a little of a bull. Then Augustus Hill, taking the empty spot at the head of the table.

Fiona Zonioni comes after, taking a seat. The smell of lady’s musk fills the room, mixed with something else. It’s not pleasant. Tim resists the urge to gag. 

Jonathan Coushaine pokes his head in first before entering. Tim got to hand it to the guy. Even though it took exposing himself to his homeroom - as well as a harsh seven year sentence because that had been his third strike - to see that he had a problem, he really turned around in the drug rehab program. Above all, Tim is glad they are on one front with the new rehabilitation programs he has in mind.

Schibetta walks through the door a few minutes later with a bored look on his face, until he wrinkles his nose at the smell. But once he sees Adebisi, he frowns. Adebisi licks his lips and pats the chair next to him, grinning. Schibetta is clearly searching for a free seat, but there are only two left - both next to Adebisi. 

Finally he grabs one, but then he tries to pull it away. Not easy with Adebisi grabbing the other side of the chair. It’s so childish, Tim can only shake his head. “You are already late, please just sit down. You will bear each other’s presence for the meeting just fine, I’m sure.” Schibetta gives him that look before sitting down, obviously sulking. They will sure be having a nice long conversation about it later. Maybe he should invite Sister Pete Marie, too.

Those guys will be good for that trust exercise, Tim thinks. Now he knows that their gangs have been at each other’s throat for a while now but if they can just learn to forgive! Schibetta is so young. He can’t be planning to live his whole life with a grudge like that. He just has to learn to deal with Adebisi’s oddities. Tim is sure that they can work it out somehow.

Miguel Alvarez is the last one to show up - Tim sighs. He has wished for Miguel not to get involved in El Norte, but it seems that has been in vain. He still won’t give up hope on him. He can still turn his life around. Once he has taken the last seat, McManus clears his throat.

“Now the first thing on the agenda: You could help some troubled teens learn valuable lessons. I’m looking for volunteers to make a presentation about prison life for a scare them straight program.”

“Do we looks like zoo animals to you?”

“Adebisi will do great for your program in that case.”

“He sure smells about right for the job.”

The other inmates nod in agreement.

Hill raises his hand. “I could make a powerpoint.”

Tim shakes his head. “They want something more… intimidating…”

“What, just because I’m in a wheelchair I’m not intimidating?”

Then he attempts to roll over Tim’s foot. But Tim is quicker and the wheelchair only hits the table leg.

“Just send the nigger, McManus, so we can move on to the important topics, like se-”

“Yeah, Adebisi, you go!”

Adebisi himself just shrugs. “I’m only going if I get paid” and then he nods to Schibetta. He grins, wiggling his eyebrows. If Tim doesn’t act fast, this will escalate. Damn.

“Look, I don't think we have enough insurance to let Adebisi into a room full of teenagers… Hoyt, what about you?”

The biker laughs bawdily. “Can I take out my dick?”

These are teenagers, what does this guy think?! “No.”

“Pass.”

Tim sighs. “Schillinger.” This is getting nowher-

No, think positive, Tim. Think positive. Negative thoughts are for losers.

Tim gets his hopes up as Schillinger smiles. “Well, I’m up for teaching some Aryan boys to have some pride in their heritage, but I don’t have anything else to say to the other ones except to go back to their own fucking country. Same goes for my boys.” 

Schillinger’s smile melts away with Tim’s flickering hope that Schillinger might want to start the first step to finally cooperate. He sighs. “That leaves…”

Fiona waves. No way is that ever going to be intimidating.

“Mig-”

“I want girl-only-showers!” Fiona shouts over him.

He sighs. “Let’s finish that one, then we can move on to your suggestions.” So, where was he… yeah, Miguel. “Mig-”

“Man, you said that last time too and we never got to discuss them conjugals and cigs!” the Latino cuts him off.

Tim feels his lips drawing into a line. “Miguel, you’re going.”

“Without conjugals and cig the Latinos ain’t doin’ shit, man.”

“None of my homeboys will volunteer either, without conjugals. And cigs. A-” 

“Beer, too, man!” Hoyt interrupts.

“And I want to share my cell with Lil’Nin-”

Said silences the room by raising a hand. Wonder how he does that, Tim thinks to himself bitterly. “My brothers will be glad to participate.”

Yeah, right. They are sure going to scare those kids with their professional attire and the neatly knitted kufis. And the bead-necklaces. 

“Do you know what a scare them straight program is, Said?”

“Have you seen brother Khan throw a fit when somebody insults his needlework?”

Khan is just a really bad example in general. Half of the staff keeps wondering why the guy got sent to prison in the first place, the other half is afraid to be left alone in a room with him.

“Wait, Khan does embroidery?”

“He participates in the yearly handcraft contest in town and already won three times. He also weaved my favourite prayer mat. It’s like praying on a cloud”, Said says, beaming fondly, “And don’t get me started at how comfortable the kufis are he knits. We are all very proud of brother Khan.” 

For some reason, that catches Hoyt’s attention. The burly man leans forward. “Does he take requests? I still need a present for Mother’s Day.”

“I shall relay the message to brother Khan and will inform you of his answer.” 

Good. Tim likes the cooperation going on here. “We could hold a handcraft contest here in Emcity…” However, as he makes some notes, he can’t help but feel a little… he can’t put his finger on it but… somehow he feels that if he had been the one who brought up the topic, everybody would have laughed at him.

Schibetta rolls his eyes, groaning “Nobody is going to participate in that shit. Can we please talk about the obvious lack of hygiene in this dump?”

Said smiles, unfazed. “I agree, I don’t think anyone will participate seeing that brother Khan has already won. The level of craftsmanship is unreachable. Sadly this cannot be said about the level of hygiene here. Last time I prayed a cockroach crawled on my back, and I had to finish before being able to shake it off. I have to admit, I was quite uncomfortable as it crawled under my kufi as I prostrated.”

Somewhere, Tim hears a snicker at the word prostrated. His money is on O’Reily, now grinning as Schibetta looks at Said in disgust, who remains so calm and collected about the issue. “Hey Petey, you sure Fiona ain’t the real leader of the Italians and you’re just them faggots’ messenger boy?”

But before Schibetta can answer, Fiona has already turned to O’Reily, face flushed red. “Listen, you little shit! I’m getting so tired of all those homophobic slurs and stereotypes getting thrown around like poo in a monkey cage! I can be whoever I want however I want it, and you have no right to judge me, and certainly not with a horrible style like that! And yes, I am totally talking about that bald head of yours! And don’t pull the cancer-boy excuse! Get yourself a wig, or at least a hat! And just to clear that up, too, just because I’m Italian doesn’t mean I’m in the fucking mob either, because I’m getting damn tired about that shit, too! There are many hardworking, law-abiding Italian-Americans out there, and you have no right to judge us, you Irish hoodlum!” 

“You do realize that you are in a prison, right?” Schillinger cuts in, voice dry, as Fiona finally stops to take a breath.

Apparently that enrages her even more. “It was an accident, damnit! I didn’t know he was allergic to almonds, why won’t anyone believe me?!” She shakes her head. Tim spots a few noses wrinkling at the smell. “I’m a good-hearted woman who just wanted to bake a cake to make up after a fight. And now that we’ve made that clear: I want showers for women! Or at least separate stalls for everyone for some privacy!”

“Yeah, let’s divide those niggers from the Aryans already, me and my boys are afraid to drop the soap whenever there’s one of these in the shower!” Schillinger’s face is stern as he points to Adebisi. 

Adebisi glares daggers back at him, “Looks who’s talkin’ here…”

“My offer to you McManus is that I will make sure the thread runs out just in time for Khan to be upset enough for scare them straight… and now that that is settled, let’s move on to real problems. McManus, what are you going to do about the serious underrepresentation of black inmates in this council?”

“See, thats what I’m talking about, you give those niggers, spics an…”

Miguel shouts over Schillinger before he can finish expressing that sentiment, “All in favor for giving Schillinger’s spot to someone else, raise your hands!”

Everyone does. Tim himself manages to catch himself in time before raising his hand, too. 

Schillinger huffs. “Yeah, good idea, throw the only sane man here out… this is why you niggers can’t rule a state, because you’d only do shit. The niggers, and Hoyt, that is.” He looks to the other man accusingly.

But Hoyt just shakes his head. “So what? I need that present for Mother’s Day, man, and my options here are kind of limited. Sides, wasn’t just me. All the other-”

“I counted the spic, the girl wop, the stinking thing there and the mick as niggers too and forgot about the other guy. He’s not important anyway.” 

Coushaine looks peeved at that. “Yeah, anyways,” he says, “It’s time we finally talk about the important things.” Tim can say amen to that.

“Yes, I wasn’t finished with the plan. First, we talk about the things on the program, then about your suggestions. Why does this never work here?”

Miguel just huffs, looking at him like a petulant six-year old. “Because nobody cares for that shit. We want sex and cigs man!”

“Sex with women, mind you”, goes O'Reily again, making sure to remind everyone how straight he is. 

Adebisi turns his head to Schibetta and grins. “I would not mind an hour with Li-”

Tim clears his throat. “We need more teachers for the high-school project. Jonathan is doing a great job, but he can’t handle it alone. Any volunteers? Sai-” But chances are, the guy will just make it about his political statements again. “Peter, I know you finished high school.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “So? I’m not participating.”

That prick. That little, arrogant, entitled… Tim takes a deep breath. “You could make a difference by helping them.”

“I don’t care.”

Tim can’t help but think that this reminds him of someone, but he just can’t put a finger on it. “You know, Peter, this doesn’t work that way. I can’t do anything alone, this needs teamwork. You guys and I, we are a team!”

“Yeah? Well, despite my repeated complaints it still smells like an open sewer in here, so go fuck yourself, McManus.”

“Look, I can’t just force everyone to take frequent showers!”

“You force us to work in an underpaid job, you force us to sit in our cells at five sharp and you forced Dino into that shithole where he was burned alive, so don’t give me any of your-”

“So this is all about Ortolani’s death? Your problem?” Yes, Ortolani, that’s what he’s been reminding him of. The same antisocial, arrogant and uncaring behavior his cousin displayed. Must be a family-thing. “You are blaming me for what happened to him?”

Next he’ll blame him for Nino Schibetta’s death, too. Not that his daddy brought it on himself or that good ol’ McManus can’t control every single meal that gets sent over the counter. His family were hateful people who stubbornly refused see the error in their ways and the little shit is determined to follow down the same path. 

But Tim won’t let him. Not with this one. He’ll make sure Peter realizes it before it is too late, no matter what it takes.

Peter looks at him, lips pressed together. Almost as if he’s about to cry. A few moments pass, then he looks down on the table.

“We’ll talk about that after the meeting. Hoyt, it says here you actually went to college? Is that a typo?”

“I fucked every last frat boy there.”

“Dude, you have no idea how gay that sounds…” Ryan O’Reily shakes his bald head. “I would have gone for the frat girls, you know…”

“Fraternities don’t have girls. That’s why they are called fraternities, baldo.”

“Don’t be a smartass, collegeboy…”

“Can we please focus on separate showers?” Fiona waves her arm. Those sitting closest to her shrink back at the smell. 

“I agree with the fag, something needs to be done about the race-mixing here!”

“FINE, let’s talk about the damn showers. No, there won’t be any separate showers, because we don’t have the money! Just deal with it like everyone else, damn it!”

Maybe Tim lost his temper here a bit. But he’s had enough of the shower-talks. This is prison, not a fucking spa.

“At least introduce separate hours and a timetable then!” Schillinger roars. Why the hell is that guy even bitching? He’s the one getting all the complaints about sexual harassment here!

“Look, Schillinger, there won’t be any segregation based on color here as long as I have a say in it, got that?” Tim then looks to Fiona, who’s mouth is already open, ready to say something. “Or sexual orientation.”

“This has nothing to do with my sexual orientation! I’m a straight woman, damn it!”

“Then why do you talk in your man-voice when you fight over the last pudding at lunch?” 

“Shut up, O’Reily!”

“Can we talk about the fact that the birthday of our Lord is near and we haven’t made the proper preparations yet to celebrate?” Jonathan coughs.

“Dude, it’s the first of november. Christmas is almost two months from here”, Miguel points out. “And what do you want to do, anyway? Play Christmas jingles over the speakers?”

“More like a prayer session. Some Bible readings-”

“A proper Christmas feast!” Augustus Hill raises his arms. Hoyt shouts in agreement. 

“I ain’t cooking that shit!” O’Reily shouts before laying his face on the table again, clearly exhausted. Tim recalls that he does not work in the kitchen anymore. Maybe it’s the stress from the treatment.

“And of course our Jewish, Catholic”, Jonathan looks to Said, smiling, “And Muslim neighbors should attend the readings, to show them the true fai-”

“I object, McManus! We can’t be forced to participate in this, it’s against our constitutional rights!” 

“Man, who cares about your constitutional rights, we want cable!” Augustus says next to McManus. “They got these shows on private TV, with tits and all! But speaking of constitutional rights, how about those conjugals?”

“Nigger has a point, only I suggest those constitutional rights must serve to protect the white minority - as for the conjugals, our race needs to procreate to stop the niggerfestation of this country!”

“We could play Secret Santa”, Fiona suggests. Tim actually likes that one. 

But before he can jot it down, Hoyt starts roaring: “Beer! Fuck man! And a Christmas tree to get drunk under!”

“And Advent calendars for me and my boys! The last one I ordered got opened before its time by one the hacks, and I want proper compensation!” Schillinger raves.

“If there are special privileges at Christmas for the Christian inmates, I demand the needs of our brothers at Ramadan to be fulfilled accordingly!”

“Nobody cares about your Rama-whatever here, nigger!”

“I want a Christmas tree, too!”, O’Reily grins, looking to Schibetta. “Ever since Ortolani, no candle has been lit here…”

“O’Reily, that was uncalled for. Apologize now!”

Schibetta is still looking at the table, unmoving. Tim sees just enough of his eyes to notice that they are reddened. Adebisi leans over to him. 

“Awww, my Lil’ Nino, don’t cry. Come here, Adebisi gonna make it all better” 

“Don’t you fucking touch me! And stop calling me that, you stinkin’ asshole!” Schibetta’s voice is almost breaking at the end. Tim has to stop this.

“Alright, alright, calm down, everyone, let’s not let this escalate - let’s get back to the agend-”

“Okay let’s talk about that agenda of yours then. I mean if you actually CAN bring back conjugals I’m all for it, but seriously, you can’t and this is all just a farce so we think we actually have some freedom in this dump, right?” He liked Schibetta better when he was still sulking. “You don’t care for anything we have to say, you just want confirmation for your stupid ideas like that thinking-pod!”

“It’s called a reflection room and that was a great idea! I-”

“We can have a conjugal in my cell, Lil’ Nino.” Adebisi cuts him off, hugging the Italian from behind.   
Peter manages to free himself from his grip after some struggling. “Back off, you fucking dirtbag!”

“Enough with the courting,” Adebisi’s voice has lost the playful tone, Tim notices. Instead it is cold… cruel - sending a shiver down his back, even when he’s not addressed. 

Schibetta seems less affected. “Fuck you, you stinking moolie!”

And that seems to be the final straw. It goes too fast for Tim to react - the blow to Schibetta’s head, Adebisi grabbing him by the shirt and throwing him on the table.  
Adebisi crawls over him, between his legs. Schibetta aims for his face and gets a good hit, buying him enough time to force a leg between them, keeping Adebisi at distance. 

Fuck, if Adebisi is trying to do what Tim thinks he’s trying to do... Tim can’t let that happen here right in front of him, he’d be the joke of the whole prison. But before anyone can get over there and break it up, O’Reily has to make some snide remark about Fiona smelling like an old lady who just took a shit in her adult diaper. In turn she sends him crashing to the ground, right into Tim. Fiona does not call that a day though, oh no, she proceeds to pummel him with one of her purple pumps while he lies on top of Tim.

Meanwhile Schillinger, obviously still sore about Hoyt voting for him leaving, is having a heated discussion with the biker. Something about a softy and a security blanket, McManus has trouble understanding them over the sound of O’Reily’s screams. Then, suddenly, Hoyt roars, tackling the man - only, Schillinger jumps up soon enough to evade him, resulting in Hoyt and Schillinger’s chair crashing against Said, knocking the man off his seat. 

Schillinger wouldn’t be Schillinger if he didn’t take that chance. It’s probably the kicks that make Said angry enough to join their brawl. 

“Look, people! We still have to discuss the handicraft contest, I for one won’t let the prize go to an heretic. And we need to talk about Christmas services!”

“Mukada holds Christmas mass, there’s nothing to talk about, man.”

“I’m talking about a real sermon here, not that Catholic blasphemy!”

“Fuck you, asshole!” And there goes Miguel…

Tim closes his eyes. It’s a failure, that’s for sure.

Next thing he knows the COs storm into the small room, batons drawn.

* * *

So that was the last Council meeting this year, Tim notes looking at the calendar. December the 31th. Had he known that he would have brought Christmas-cookies. Maybe he should introduce some refreshments to those meetings - food usually makes people more sociable. 

It just wasn’t supposed to end that way - with the guards breaking everything up, rescuing him from the people he’s supposed to reform…

At least he’s better off than O’Reily, who had to be sent to medward to get that shoe out of his shoulder where the heel got stuck in. Or poor Jonathan, beaten up so badly with his fingers broken - he couldn’t finish his pottery in time for the contest. Guy was heart-broken. Tim promises himself he’ll have another contest planned for next year. Handcrafting contest was a hit. Sure, there were a lot of creative shanks that he had to confiscate, but overall, it was nice to see what his charges could do. Only with Khan winning - he made a gorgeous tapestry that now hangs in Tim’s office - the Christians seemed very upset. They started a protest and a hunger-strike of three days over the issue.

Said, too had to be sent to medward due to a sprained ankle. Though not very happy about the situation, since he claims that praying just isn’t the same like this, he still arranged for Khan to participate in the scare them straight program. Apparently it was a success, judging by the positive reviews they got. Tim made a mental note to always keep the thread supply flowing.

Being a man of character, Said also made due on what he told Hoyt - resulting in Khan making a beautiful tablecloth for Hoyt’s mother, who in turn sent a letter praising the pattern and quality as well as a cake. Sadly, the cake never reached Hoyt since a bunch of hungry COs got to it first. Tim wasn’t sure whether or not to tell the man about it but decided not to - for the sake of peace.

Other people didn’t feel that keeping the peace was that important. Adebisi continued his advances with Schibetta in the hole - who shouted profanities back. But that wasn’t the only thing Schibetta did. When Tim walked in there, he was very surprised to find the cell spotlessly clean and the usually so distinctive smell of body odor missing. After some digging around he found out that Schibetta had paid the CO to let him take a daily shower and to have the floor scrubbed - he only gave in after the Italian seemed to be close to a nervous breakdown the Co claimed, but Tim didn’t believe a word.

Sadly, this level of cleanliness wasn’t the norm with the other inhabitants. When Tim took Miguel out of the hole, he was surprised to find the man sitting in front of the bucket, an utterly horrid mural on the wall. Miguel grinned. Tim didn’t.

Of course Tim usually encourages creative thinking. Like himself - he has started drawing designs for those reflection rooms a week ago, and they are coming out pretty good. Now if only his prisoners can just channel their creative energies in a more positive direction too. 

Like Vernon Schillinger - he started writing a book. Now it might just be another version of Mein Kampf, but writing his thoughts down could actually help the man think his actions over and reflect on his life. 

Even if a prisoner is less creative, they can still start something productive. Fiona for example decided to do something for her health and started doing gymnastics. Of course, that doesn’t help the smell, but he’s positive that with a better body image she won’t be so hesitant to use the showers. 

Tim hears a knock on the door. Murphy steps in. “The inmates have been asking about the conjugals again. And cigarretes, and cable. I told them no, but they insisted I ask you. Oh, by the way, Hill is back again.”

Ah, yes, Hill. He still feels sorry for that one. But after the commotion had been broken up by the COs, Hill was simply… forgotten in that room. Usually that wouldn’t have been a problem but crashing against the table seemed to have gotten his breaks stuck and thus he was unable to roll out himself. Sadly, nobody heard his cries for help until he was discovered two days later, dehydrated. 

And now he had to hear that neither cable, nor conjugals would see the inside of Oz anytime soon. It’s not like Tim didn’t try, but there’s little he can do against the Governor’s orders, especially not with Glynn so apathetic about the issue. 

Besides, they are here to rethink their actions and the punishment - however unfair - is a part of it. Just like the showers are a part of it. Because there’s no way they can order separate stalls just like that. 

Tim is, however, sad about the Christmas-tree. He would have liked to have one but Glynn feared they might use its branches for shanks or hang somebody from it so he only allowed a very small one in Tim’s office. Of course Tim did decorate his office for a nice Christmassy feel, including setting up a small tree, but he had to avoid seeing prisoners in here. No need to make them jealous. Or remind Schillinger of the Advent calendar he’ll never get compensation for.

Christmas has been a disaster in itself. They had to celebrate it under lockdown after that small incident at Mukada’s special service escalated into an all out beating of a certain group of protestants who thought it would be wise to waltz in and hold anti-catholic demonstrations in a room filled to the brim with very catholic gangsters who thought that murder was a valid solution to a disagreement. There are certain rumors about the ghost of Donald Groves participating but Tim brushes things like that off as drug-induced hallucinations. Although Mukada did mention something about the cannibal when Tim visited him in medward. Not that anybody went after him but in the heat of the moment a cross fell off the table, breaking his little toe on impact. 

Tim sighs. Yep, this year has been another ‘eventful’ one…. Next year will definitely bring lots of new resolutions. At least Tim hopes it will.

He looks at the list of names before him. He’ll try that council next year, too. Hopefully the participants will be wiser by then.


End file.
